Maybe Just A Little Hemophobic
by TrustTheCloak
Summary: Gilan disliked blood; he always had. Especially cuts, where the warm, wet, metallic smelling liquid was made worse by the loose, jagged flaps of skin... Blood was the reason why Gilan's face was void of its usual smile.


Gilan disliked blood; he always had. Especially cuts, where the warm, wet, metallic smelling liquid was made worse by the loose, jagged flaps of skin... Blood was the reason why Gilan's face was void of its usual smile as he slipped into the cabin. "Blaze has a cut on her left hind. It's pretty deep."

His mentor paused. "Where?"

"On her hock. Halt, I think it needs stitches."

The Ranger considered this, examining his cup of coffee. "You could put the stitches in."

At the words, Gilan visibly blanched. "You want me to stitch it?" The apprentice asked dubiously. "That's really not a good idea."

"Why not?" Halt answered with a shrug, raising an eyebrow. "You have to do it sometime. What if you are out, someone gets hurt, and you are the only one to give medical attention?"

Gilan winced and tried again. "Please, Halt. You know I hate blood and cuts..." The boy shuddered. "I don't even like being around scrapes that much."

Halt sighed. He knew of Gilan's dislike of open wounds, and could understand it, but the boy had to learn. "Come on. I'll watch, but you need to stitch up _your_ horse," the Ranger said, adding extra emphasis on the word "your".

Gilan gnawed on the inside of his cheek, feeling decidedly queasy at the thought. "Fine," he said faintly, hating it but knowing nothing he said would change his mentor's mind. Standing up, Halt quickly moved to the cabinet where they kept medical supplies and threaded a clean needle.

"Let's go." The Ranger said simply, giving his student a small shove when the boy made no sign of moving. Reluctantly, Gilan turned, and, feet dragging, led his mentor to the stables.

Blaze lifted her head as they entered and whinnied a greeting. Halt stroked her nose fondly before moving to crouch beside the wound, frowning at what he saw. "You're right about it being deep." Unscrewing the jar of ointment, he gently smoothed some of the numbing warmweed salve over the cut, then gestured his apprentice closer. "Well, you can't stitch it up from way over there."

Gilan bit his lip and moved over, taking the needle from his master. "I don't want to hurt her if I do it wrong..." Gilan trailed off, trying to steady his shaking hands.

"The numbing will have taken affect, and it's a clean cut - you couldn't have a better wound to learn on." Halt replied, making a 'get on with it' motion with his hand.

The youth took a deep breath and turned to face the wound, firming his resolve to get the job done. His resolve immediately crumbled as he took in the blood, the loose flaps of skin... he fancied that he could hear the cut make a squelching sound, effectively making himself even sicker.

"Come on," Halt's soft, accented voice said from his left. "Hold the lips together, and push the needle through."

Taking a deep breath, Gilan gathered his courage and pushed the needle in. Watching the thread slide through the skin, Gilan felt bile rise into his throat, the lightheadedness almost overwhelming. Quickly, he pressed the needle into his teacher's hand. "Halt," he said faintly, "I can't do this." With great effort, Gilan pushed himself to his feet, staggering slightly at he felt his way toward the wall.

Halt sighed, sounding slightly exasperated. "Gilan! It's not that bad. Come and finish the job! Your mare can't just stand here."

Gilan tried unsuccessfully to blink away the black crumbles at the edge of his finish, the image of the deep cut still plastered in his mind. "You don't understand...Halt, I think I might faint..." As he finished the sentence, Gilan swayed, his knees buckling, and began to fall.

Halt was on his feet in an instant, grabbing Gilan's shoulders to steady him as he slid him to the ground. "He actually fainted." Halt said incredulously. "I can't believe he actually fainted." Gently patting Gilan's cheek, Halt raised his voice slightly as he spoke. "Gilan? Wake up, Gil."

Slowly, the boy's blue eyes blinked open, then sluggishly focused on Halt's face. Embarrassment quickly colored his usually fair skin. "Sorry," Gilan said in a small voice, attempting to rise to his feet despite feeling slightly dizzy. "I didn't mean for that to happen."

Halt put his hand on his student's shoulder to restrain him. "Wait a moment," he ordered. Turning back to Blaze, Halt retrieved the needle. "I think I may stitch her up after all," the older Ranger said dryly. "We can't have you fainting again. Was it really that bad?"

Gilan frowned. "I just hate the loose skin, the feel, the smell..." Gilan shuddered.

Halt nodded slightly. "We'll have to get you used to that, then. I can't have my apprentice passing out at the first sign of a wound."

Gilan merely sighed, relishing the fact that, at least for today, he had escaped the unpleasantness that was wound training.

* * *

 **I thought it would be interesting if Gilan had a bit of a fear towards open wounds/bloods... I think he'd grow out of it (he'd better, anyway; may touch on that later), but this was sitting in my folder begging to be published. It might be a little OOC, but, you know...**

 **Two stories in one day... Be proud of me, readers. ^^ Please R &R.**

 **-TrustTheCloak**


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